THE PURSUIT
For a moment Bessie was too paralyzed with fear even to cry but. It was
plain that the gypsy had carried poor Dolly away with him, and that,
moreover, he had muffled her one cry for help. For a moment Bessie stood
wondering what to do. To alarm the camp would be almost useless, she
felt; the girls, waking up out of a sound sleep, could do nothing until
they understood what had happened, and even then the chances were
against their being able to help in any practical manner.
And so Bessie fought down that blind instinct to scream out her terror,
and, in a moment, throwing off her blanket, she began to creep out into
the black woods, dark now as pitch, and as impenetrable, it seemed, as
one of the tropical jungles she had read of.
One thing Bessie felt to be, above everything, necessary. She must find
out what the gypsy meant to do, and where he was taking Dolly. If, by
some lucky chance, she could track him, there would be a far better
opportunity to rescue Dolly in the morning, when the guides would be
called to help, and, if necessary, men from the hotel at Loon Pond and
other places in the woods. To such a call for help, Bessie knew well
there would be an instant response.
"He'll never go back to the camp," Bessie told herself, trying to argue
the problem out, so that she might overlook none of the points that were
involved, and that might make so much difference to poor Dolly, who was
paying so dear a price for her prank. "If he did, he'd be sure that
there would be people there, looking for him, as soon as the word got
around that Dolly was missing."
She stopped for a moment, to listen attentively, but though the woods
were full of slight noises, she heard nothing that she could decide
positively was the gypsy. Still, burdened as he was with Dolly, it
seemed to Bessie that he must make some noise, no matter how skilled a
woodsman he might be, and how much training he had had in silent
traveling in his activities as a poacher and hunter of game in woods
where keepers were on guard.
"He'll find out some place where they're not likely to look for him, and
stay there until the people around here have given up the idea of
finding him," said Bessie to herself. "That's why I've got to follow him
now. And I'm sure he's on one of the trails; he couldn't carry Dolly
through the thick woods, no one could. Oh, I wish I could hear
something!"
That wish, for the time, at least, was to be denied, but it was not long
before Bessie, still tramping through thick undergrowth in the direction
she was sure her quarry had taken, came to a break in the woods, where
it was a little lighter, and she could see her way.
She saw at once that she had come to a trail, and, though she had never
seen it before, she guessed that it was the one that led to Deer
Mountain, from what Miss Eleanor had told her about the trails about
the camp. And, moreover, as she started to follow it, convinced that the
gypsy, on finding it, would have abandoned the rougher traveling of the
uncut woods, she saw something that almost wrung a cry of startled joy
from her.
It was not much that she saw, only a fragment of white cloth, caught in
the branches of a bush that had pushed itself out onto the trail. But it
was as good as a long letter, for the cloth was from Dolly's dress, and
it was plain and unmistakable evidence that her chum had been carried
along this trail.
She walked on more quickly now, pausing about once in a hundred yards to
listen for sounds of those who were, as she was convinced, ahead of her,
and, about half a mile beyond the spot where she had found that white
pointer, she saw another piece of mute but convincing evidence, of
exactly the same sort, and caught in the same way.
As Bessie kept on, the ground continued to rise, and she realized that
she must be on the crest of Deer Mountain, one of the heights that
lifted itself above the level of the surrounding woods. Although a high
mountain, the climb from Long Lake was not a particularly severe one,
for all the ground was so high that even the highest peaks in the range
that was covered by these woods did not seem, unless one were looking at
them from a distance of many miles, in the plain below, to be as high as
they really were.
The trail that Bessie followed, as she knew, was leading her directly
away from Loon Pond and the gypsy camp, but that did not disturb her,
since she had expected the gypsy to bear away from his companions. Her
mind was working quickly now, and she wondered just how far the gypsies
were likely to go in support of their reckless companion.
She knew that the bonds among these nomads were very strong, but there
was another element in this particular case that might, she thought,
complicate matters. The man who had carried Dolly off was engaged to be
married to the dark-eyed girl they had talked with, and it was possible
that that fact might make trouble for him, and prevent him from
receiving the aid of his tribe, as he would surely have done in any
ordinary struggle with the laws of the people whom the gypsies seemed to
despise and dislike.
Undoubtedly the girl's parents, if she had any, would resent the slight
he was casting upon their daughter, and if they were powerful or
influential in the tribe, they would probably try to get him cast out,
and cause the other gypsies to refuse him the aid he was probably
counting upon.
The most important thing, Bessie still felt, was to find out where Dolly
was to be hidden. And, as she pressed on, tired, but determined not to
give up what seemed to her to be the best chance of rescuing her chum,
Bessie looked about constantly for some fresh evidence of Dolly's
presence.
But luck was not to favor her again. Sharp as was her watch, there were
no more torn pieces of Dolly's dress to guide her, and, even had Bessie
been an expert in woodcraft, and so able to follow their tracks, it was
too dark to use that means of tracing them.
Bessie did, indeed, think of that, and of waiting until some guide
should come, who might be able to read the message of the trail. But she
reflected that it was more than possible that none of the men in the
neighborhood might be able to do so, and it seemed to her that it was
better to take the slim chance she had than abandon it in favor of
something that might, after all, turn out to be no chance at all.
The darkness was beginning to yield now to the first forerunners of the
day. In the east there was a faint radiance that told of the coming of
the sun, and Bessie hurried on, since she felt sure that the gypsy would
not venture to travel in daylight, and must mean to hide Dolly before
the coming of the sun lightened the task of his pursuers, since he must
feel certain that he would be pursued, although he might have no inkling
that anyone was already on his trail.
But now Bessie had to face a new problem that did, indeed, force her to
rest. For suddenly the well defined, broad trail ended, and broke up
into a series of smaller paths. Evidently this was a spot at which those
who wished to reach the summit of the mountain took diverging paths,
according to the particular spot they wanted to reach, and whether they
were bound on a picnic or merely wanted to get to a spot whence they
might see the splendid view for which Deer Mountain was famed.
In the darkness there was absolutely no way of telling which of these
many diverging trails the gypsy had followed, and Bessie, ready to cry
with disappointment and anxiety for Dolly, was forced to sit down on a
stump and wait for daylight. Even that might not help her.
Her best chance, however, was to wait until the light came, and then,
despite her lack of acquaintance with the art of reading footprints, to
try to distinguish those of the gypsy. All that she needed was some clue
to enable her to guess which path her quarry had taken; beyond that the
message of the footprints was not necessary.
As she sat there, watching the slow, slow lightening in the east, Bessie
wondered if the day was ever coming. She had seen the sun rise before,
but never had it seemed so lazy, so inclined to linger in its couch of
night.
But every wait comes to an end at last, and finally Bessie was able to
go back a little way, before the other trails began to branch off, and
bending over, to try to pick out the footprints of the man who had
carried Dolly off. It was easy to do, fortunately, or Bessie could
scarcely have hoped to accomplish it.
There had been a light rain the previous morning, enough to soften the
ground and wipe out the traces of the numerous parties that had made
Deer Mountain the objective point of a tramp in the woods, and, mingled
with her own small footsteps, Bessie soon found the marks of hobnailed
feet, that must, she was sure, have been made by the gypsy.
Step by step she followed them, and she was just about at the first of
the diverging trails when a sound behind her made her turn, terrified,
to see who was approaching.
But it was not the man who had so frightened her whom she saw as she
turned. It was a girl--a gypsy, to be sure--but a girl, and Bessie had
no fear of her, even when she saw that it was the same girl the scamp
she was pursuing was to marry. Moreover, the girl seemed as surprised
and frightened at the sight of Bessie, crouching there? as Bessie
herself had been at the other's coming.
"Where is he; that wicked man you are to marry?" cried Bessie, fiercely,
springing to her feet, and advancing upon the trembling gypsy girl. "You
shall tell me, or I will--"
She seized the gypsy girls shoulders, and shook her, before she realized
that the girl, whose eyes were filled with tears, probably knew as
little as she herself. Then, repentant, she released her shoulders, but
repeated her question.
"You mean John, my man?" said the girl, a quiver in her tones. "I do
not know, he was not at the camp last night. I was afraid. I think he
does not love me any more."
Something about the way she spoke made Bessie pity her.
"What is your name?" she asked.
"Lolla," said the gypsy.
"I believe you do not know, Lolla," said Bessie, kindly. "And you do not
want him to be sent to prison, perhaps for years and years, do you? You
love this John?"
"Prison? They would send him there? What for? No, no--yes, I love him.
Do you know where he is; where he was last night?"
"I know where he was last night, Lolla, yes. He came to our camp and
carried my friend away. You remember, the one who was with me yesterday,
when we looked at your camp? That is why I am looking for him. He says
he will make her marry him later on; that he will keep her with your
tribe until she is ready."
Lolla's tears ceased suddenly, and there was a gleam of passionate
anger in her eyes.
"He will do that?" she said, angrily. "My brothers, they will kill him
if he does that. He is to marry me, we are betrothed. You do not know
where he is? You would like to find your friend?"
"I must, Lolla."
"Then I will help you, if you will help me. Will you?"
Lolla looked intently at Bessie, as if she were trying to tell from her
eyes whether she really meant what she said.
"Oh, I wish I knew whether you are good; whether you speak the truth,"
cried the gypsy girl, passionately. "That other girl, your friend. She
wants my John. So--"
Bessie, serious as the situation was, could not help laughing.
"Listen, Lolla," she said. "You mustn't think that. Dolly--that's my
friend--thinks John is good looking, perhaps, but she hasn't even
thought of marrying anyone yet, oh, for years. She's too young.
We don't get married as early as you. So you may be sure that if John
has her, all she wants is to get away and get back to her friends."
Lolla's eyes lighted with relief.
"That is good," she said. "Then I will help, for that is what I want,
too. I do not want her to live in the tribe, and to be with us. You are
sure John has taken her?"
Then Bessie told her of the face they had seen in the flashlight, and of
how Dolly had been spirited away from the camp fire afterward. And as
she spoke, she was surprised to see that Lolla's eyes shone, as if she
were delighted by the recital.
"Why, Lolla, you look pleased!" said Bessie. "As if you were glad it had
happened. How can that be; how can you seem as if you were happy about
it?"
Lolla blushed slightly.
"He is my man," she said, simply. "He is strong and brave, do you not
see? If he were not brave he would not dare to act so. He is a fine
man. If I were bad, he would beat me. And he will beat anyone who is not
good to me. Of course, I am glad that he was brave enough to act so,
though I did not want him to do it."
Bessie laughed. The primitive, elemental idea that was expressed in
Lolla's words was beyond her comprehension, and, in fact, a good many
people older and wiser than Bessie do not understand it.
But Lolla did not mind the laugh. She did not understand what was in
Bessie's mind; what she had said seemed so simple to her that it
required no explanation. And now her mind was bent entirely upon the
problem of getting Dolly back to her friends, in order that John might
turn back to her and forget the American girl whose appeal to him had
lain chiefly in the fact that she was so different from the women of his
own race.
"He will not take her back to camp," said Lolla, thoughtfully. "He knows
they would look there first."
"But will the others--your people--help him?"
"He may tell them that he has stolen her to get a ransom; to keep her
until her friends pay well for her to be returned. Our old men do not
like that, they say it is too dangerous. But if he were to say that he
had done so, they might help him, because our people stand and fall
together. But," and her eyes shone, "I will tell my brothers the truth.
They will believe me, and--Quick! Hide in those bushes; someone is
coming!"
Bessie obeyed instantly. But, once she had hidden herself, she heard
nothing. It was not for a minute or more after she had slipped into the
bushes that she heard the sound that had disturbed Lolla. But then,
looking out, she saw John coming down one of the paths, peering about
him cautiously.